


From the Ashes

by BarPurple



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fire, Hospitalization, Major Character Injury, Pre-Relationship, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-31 19:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: His world had become grey; the grey of ash and smoke, but there was a glimpse of blue and that became his hope.





	1. Chapter 1

He was stood on the doorstep, his keys in his hands, when he paused and tilted his head to try and identify the crackling sound. What the hell was that? It didn’t sound like Neal’s music, didn’t sound like music at all, but it was familiar. A strong whiff of smoke assaulted his nose, he turned around on the stoop to look down the street, surely it was to warm for anyone to have felt the need to lay a fire in their hearth today?

His own voice startled him as it screamed to get Neal out of the house. The world around him exploded in a splintering kaleidoscope of broken glass and shattered wood. One of the stained-glass panes from the front door stabbed into the lawn by his head, the green glass distorting the flashing lights of the fire trucks as they raced towards his burning house.

 

Gold jerked awake, wide-eyed and gasping, his hands patting frantically over the bed he’d fallen asleep on. Neal was still here, still breathing on his own, still unconscious. Surrounded by softly bleeping machines Neal was so small in the hospital bed, even though he was only a few inches off being Gold’s height now. He reached for Neal’s hand, mindful of the canula, and gently squeezed his fingers.

“Sorry son, bad dream.”

He wished his nightmare had woken Neal. The part of him that was still living in the blissful time Before chided that disturbing his son’s sleep was a terrible thing; the rest of him that was living in the Hell of Now knew that he would march a brass band in here if it would make Neal wake up, throw a pillow at him, and grouse at him to shut up.

There was no response from Neal. Gold leaned back in the chair and winced at the cacophony of pops and cracks from his protesting bones and muscles. He stared at his wrist, and eventually the sight of the small scar he’d got when Neal was five and they were sword fighting with sticks made him realise that he wasn’t wearing his watch. When had he taken that off? Where had he put it? The effort of looking for it was too much. He glanced towards the window. The blinds were drawn. Must still be night because the first thing the morning nurse did was open them. He scrubbed his hand over his face and was surprised not to hear the rasp of stubble. The facial fuzz was there, but it was, well, fuzzy now. He slowly heaved himself out of the chair and stumbled to the sink in the corner of the room.

“Hey. look at that. I’ve got a full beard. What do you reckon; more grey on my head or on my face?”

“I’d say fifty fifty.”

Gold twisted around so fast his vision blurred; “Neal!”

Neal was as he had been, sleeping.

“Sorry, sorry that was me. I thought you were talking to me. I’m sorry.”

Gold blinked and dragged his eyes away from Neal to the doorway. A tiny woman with chestnut hair was leaning on a pair of crutches. She looked familiar, but unreal. She wasn’t a nurse, a doctor, or a police officer. Only officials had come to Neal’s room, and there was no uniform he knew of that featured oversized tee-shirts emblazoned with surfing koalas.

“Are you an angel?”

She huffed a weak laugh; “You asked me that before, on the lawn of your house.”

The lilt of her accent shook him to his core. The quiet sterile room around him filled will the smell of smoke and the blare of sirens. He staggered and gripped the sink behind him, the cold steel grounded him in the moment of here and now.

“You … you got Neal out of … of the fire.”

The squeak of rubber against floor, so familiar to him who walked with a cane, as she edged further into the room.

“Yes. Do you need to sit down?”

He chuckled at her concern and waved a hand at her; “Should you be walking?”

A bright grin answered him; “Well, technically I’m not walking, sort of hobbling along.”

He stared around the room and spotted a second chair on the other side of Neal’s bed. He jerked his head at it; “Come in take a load off, please.”

She hobbled across to the chair, clearly not used to walking with crutches, so he didn’t worry that she was going to comment on him limping towards his seat, his home for the past, how many days now? In fact, in this moment he was finding it hard to worry about her judgement at all. They both eased into their chairs with a grateful groan. She wouldn’t do that once she had the cast off. Gods, he hoped her leg would heal better than his. His grubby soul prepared itself for another cross of guilt to bear, he’d taken on a million sins if … he blinked hard and tried to remember his manners, such as they were.

“Who are you? I mean, I know you saved my son, but I don’t remember if I was told your name.”

She didn’t look at him with pity, only a simple understanding, that was why he noticed the colour of her eyes, a clear bright blue.

“Belle French.”

He dipped his head to her; “Ms French, I owe you a debt of thanks I can never hope to repay.”

The formal words sounded odd in his mouth, as if he had never spoken in such a way, he had, often he was a lawyer by trade, but here and now the words carried a weight that he was acutely aware of, a promise more binding than any contract he’d even penned. She didn’t shrug or wave his oath away, she accepted the burden of the debt between them with a slow nod of her head.

“I only know you as Gold, none of my watch called you anything else.”

A smile rose to his face, the movement foreign to him and strange with the new growth of hair about his face; “I don’t use my given name, it’s Gaelic and you need a few generous measures of Scotch to pronounce it. Gold is fine.”

“Gold it is then.”

The room reclaimed its silence, but there was a different air to it now, less of the sense of standing on the edge of the abyss, the edge was still in sight, but not so close.

“How is Neal?”

His son still sleeping between them didn’t answer, so Gold did it for him.

“Good. Hell of a goose egg on his head, not going to be happy when he wakes up and finds the bald spot they shaved on him. Gonna have a scar, but he’s like me, likes his hair long so he can hide it.”

His voice broke and he reached for Neal’s fingers again, not caring that he was weeping, sobbing in front of a brave woman.

“I just want him to wake up. He’s my world, I’m dust without him.”

The squeak of rubber on floor tiles, a grunt of pained walking, all were familiar, but the strong arms around his shoulders, the softness of cloth and the warmth of a body beneath were alien. Gold couldn’t find the shame to care as the woman who had dragged his reason for living from a fire wrapped him in her embrace and soothed him as he cried out his pain.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning nurse had blinked in surprise once she’d opened the blinds and registered Belle’s presence. She’d quickly recovered and chivvied Belle back to her room for breakfast and morning rounds.

“I’ll come back later. If that’s okay?”

Gold fancied he could hear the nurse’s ears strain as she did her best to do her job and listen in on the conversation. Ear-wigging his aunts had called that; if subtly was key then the nurse wasn’t very good at it, but he really didn’t care.

“We’d like that, thank you.”

Belle gave him a smile; “I’ll see you later, Gold. Bye for now, Neal.”

Gold looked to his son, a small flicker of hope in his chest that Belle’s words would be enough to get a response from Neal, he had taught him to be polite. Nothing; maybe next time.

He gave Belle a weak smile and a nod as she hobbled out of the room. The nurse cleared her throat; “Time for you to get some breakfast Mr Gold.”

He hated these parts of the day. His influence and reputation had allowed him privileges not granted to other family members, but there were limits, and neglecting his own physical needs was not permitted. Whale had already threatened to have Dove physically carry him from Neal’s bedside. Gold might pay Dove’s wages, but he had no doubt that he would have done as asked. Most of his dignity had fallen by the wayside in the Hell of Now, he figured he could hold on to a small scrap and not be seen slung over Dove’s shoulder like a sack of tatties.

He eased himself out of the chair and gathered up his wash bag.

“I won’t be long, son, quick wash and a bite to eat and I’ll be back.”

He raised an eyebrow at the nurse, who gave him a curt nod in return.

“Anything changes, and you’ll be paged at once Mr Gold.”

He took one more look at Neal before he limped out of the room. He used a shower-room on this floor, thirty-six steps away from Neal’s door. After five days he had this down to a fine art now, could probably take the trophy in speed showering. As he striped off and stepped under the spray he found himself wondering what the trophy for such a competition would look like. A showerhead, or maybe just an artistic blur of water with a vaguely human figure rendered in glass.

As he dried himself off him his mind wandered back to their midnight visitor. Belle French was new in town, barely been here six months if he recalled correctly. More than enough time to have heard all the stories and been scared away from him. Would she come back for another visit? She seemed the kind sort, and she must be bored stuck in hospital, firefighter was an active profession after all. Would she want the stories from the horse’s mouth? God, he hoped not, he normally shut down such enquiries with a glare and a not so subtle hint about rent increases, but Belle didn’t rent from him and he didn’t have the energy to glare at anyone convincingly. He’d probably end up crying on her shoulder again.

He groaned around the toothbrush in his mouth, he’d have to apologise for that breakdown. It hadn’t felt embarrassing in the low hospital light of night, but daylight was always a harsher judge.

Why was toothpaste so hard to rinse out of a beard? Maybe he should shave? Nah, Neal would get a laugh out of his face fuzz, plus he hadn’t got a razor.

He stepped out of the bathroom less than fifteen minutes after he’d gone in. A quick look along the corridor to Neal’s room, and he took the fifteen steps in the opposite direction to the elevators. Two steps into the elevator, one floor down forty-three steps to the café. He never bothered counting the steps in the café, all he had to do was sit down at the table closest to the edge of the open-plan space and his meal was brought to him. The staff didn’t question him, it would have been clear on his face if there had been any news.

The food was tasteless, but the coffee was bearable. The café had a handy clock on the wall that showed the day and date as well as the time. Thursday, five days since the fire. It felt longer, a lot longer. He supposed at some point he would have to listen to Dove and Whale and leave the hospital, but the idea of doing that while Neal was still unconscious twisted his stomach. He left his breakfast and made the ninety-six step journey back to Neal.

 

-o0o-

 

Belle was flicking through the TV channels looking for something to distracted her from the itch in her leg. The nurses and doctors told her it was a sign everything was healing as it should, but that didn’t make it any easier to cope with. 

She found a re-run of Hell’s Kitchen and dropped the remote on to her bed. The show gave her some background noise, but her mind wasn’t on the Scottish chef shouting the hopefuls into line. It was another Scottish man who filled her thoughts. The porter who had walked her back to her room this morning had been shocked that she’d visited Gold, and even more surprised that she hadn’t heard the gossip about the feared landlord. She had, she wasn’t deaf, but she’d taken it with a big pinch of salt since until last night she’d never met the man himself. She wasn’t counting the brief moment on the lawn of his fire wrecked house, that had hardly been the time for proper introductions. What Leroy had told her didn’t match up with the man she’d met. True she was seeing him in a crisis and that changed people, but he was clearly devoted to his son. She’d seen parents fake that sort of affection in times of trouble, and Gold wasn’t faking.

The breeze from her open window caught the flowers that her watch had sent her. That was what was missing from Neal’s room, there were no flowers, cards or balloons, none of the stuff people normally sent to sick relatives and friends. Was Gold so hated in town that people shunned his son as well?

A squeak caught her attention and she looked up to see a blond-haired Candy Striper shoving the reluctant book trolley into her room.

“You ready for a new one?”

“Oh yes, please.”

The policy for borrowing books only allowed her one at a time and considering how fast Belle could read with nothing but time on her hands it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d have finished the last one. I heard that you went for a walk-about last night.”

The Candy Striper twisted her fingers in the hem of her tabard and suddenly said; “Neal’s my friend. How’s he doing?”

Belle cocked her head to one side; “The same. Have you been to see him?”

She asked it gently, there were a million reasons why this girl might not have dropped in on her friend. Belle wasn’t entirely surprised when she said; “Mom won’t let me visit him, says I’m not to go anywhere near Mr Gold.”

The girl dropped into the chair and huffed; “It’s stupid. Everyone’s scared of Neal’s dad because he’s the landlord and because of some ancient history about Neal’s mom, and that isn’t even true, but they are all too stupid to ask.”

Belle glanced up at the doorway, there was no one else around.

“Y’know I was going to go and visit Neal again this afternoon, but the nurses say I can’t walk there on my own.”

The girl flicked her hair over her shoulder and now Belle could read her name tag; Emma. She hoped the kid would read between the lines.

“I don’t just push the library trolley. As a Candy Striper I can escort you to other rooms to make sure you don’t fall, or anything.”

Belle gave her a wide smile; “That sounds great.”

“I’ll be back once I’ve finished the book rounds, okay?”

Emma was in such a rush she left the room before Belle could choose a new book. A few moments later there was a horrible squeaking noise and Emma came running back into the room.

“Here, it’s the next part.”

She was gone again like a candy-striped whirlwind. Belle opened the new book, she could get a few chapters read while she waited for Emma to come back.

**Author's Note:**

> @redbirdinwhitecage said:
> 
> Angst! Neal dies or nearly dies for a fire at the pink house. Firefighter Belle. Rumple finds a friend and perhaps something else…


End file.
